Heaven holds a sense of wonder….











{March 21, 2010}   Written in blood

Why do I put myself out there for the world to see? Why do I write my innermost thoughts and feelings for perfect strangers to read?

She said, “You have a story to tell, and people want to hear it – but you can’t just force your story on them! You have to wait for them to be ready.”

She’s every bit the private person I’m not.

It’s kind of strange, to me, when I think of it. Of the two of us, she’s more gregarious, more socially outgoing. In a crowd, I’m reserved, quiet. I like to watch the people around me. In intimate settings, she’s more withdrawn, and I’m on center stage.

I love attention, it’s true. But of a specific sort. Attention with some distance. I’d rather be behind the scenes running props or costumes & makeup, coaching the actors, than to actually be on-stage. I love to organize things and know that I made that happen, but I don’t need to have accolades thrown to me. I write, and I love to know what people think of my reading, I’m a sucker for blog stats that tell me how many visitors I have. But I don’t want anyone to know who I am.

When I demand attention for myself in a direct way, it’s a unique event. I don’t do it often. Well, I do with her. She feels like I’m always demanding her attention and she’s always giving me attention. I beg to differ – I ask her for ten minutes of her undivided attention, and she thinks that watching TV together counts as paying attention to me. She can be such a dude sometimes. 🙂

In all seriousness, though, I know that the big reason for the difference in opinion of how attention is given has a lot to do with the amount of attention she gives herself. I’m willing to let it rest, for now.

Back to the point.

Why do I put myself out there for everyone? Why do I write?

____________________________________________

I put this entry away mid-construction because real life asserted itself. It’s now been eight days since I began it, and I’m no closer to any sort of constructive answer.

I write because it’s therapeutic. I know this much. I write because, if I don’t, I become emotionally and mentally congested. If I don’t write for myself, I don’t process the little things in life, and they add up, and eventually I spew my contents in a very messy way.

I suppose I’m motivated to write for an audience for several reasons. One, knowing that I have a readership (however tiny) keeps me coming back. I feel a stronger sense of duty. I must give the people something to read! Two, having an audience forces me to clarify my thoughts. I work harder to be comprehensible. Three, and related to two, writing for others to see gives me an opportunity to improve my own writing skills. I can receive feedback, and build on my already-existing skillset. And four, I do want to make a difference. Maybe something I say will mean something to someone.

I don’t think it’s about the attention itself. I don’t mind attention, but I’ve never been one to put myself in the spotlight for long. Not without outside encouragement and a lot of pushing, anyway. I like to pull the strings to make the puppet dance. I don’t want to be the puppet.

When I think of all the reasons why I write the way I do, I wonder if I am justifying myself and my actions… am I rationalizing? Do I really do it for the attention?

I’d be lying if I said the answer was a clear-cut No. I do like the attention – but in the sense that I appreciate insight and validation. It does make me feel good to know someone out there enjoys reading my pretty words. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, and I am pretty positive it’s not the prime motivating factor in my decision to put myself out there.

Maybe it’s just about the need to express myself in a consistent way, the need to grow and challenge myself. And this is just one way I choose to do it, and it works.

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